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"I'm getting married at four," I interrupted. "And this conversation is finished."

And my mother — who is ridiculous, and vain, and who has been right about me twice in her life and both times said so at the worst possible moment — put a hand on my knee and said, "All right, my darling."

Then she took the champagne glass out of my hand, collected the other one off the table, and left the room with both.

* * *

At eleven the vans with the Ascendant came back. I heard them on the gravel from upstairs and it sounded like a storm arriving.

A little later Steven came in wearing a robe and glowing. Then he said the thing I have decided to keep as the last clean memory I have of him.

"Okay. Don't be mad. I've decided not to work today."

"Sorry?"

"Like, at all. I told Bex and the whole team. No captures, no stories, nothing goes up. It's just—" he made a gesture with both hands that took in the room "—I want to actually be present. For all of it."

I looked at him for a long moment.

"That's a big decision for you."

"I know! Right?" He was so pleased with himself, and so obviously nervous underneath it. "I mean, I'll probably post something tomorrow, I'm not a saint. But today's just ours."

Then he came over and kissed the top of my head and said, "You look unbelievable," and turned and skipped — literally skipped — out of the room.

I sat in a chair with a damp towel around my shoulders and thought: Steven is going to be kind to me for the rest of my life.

And then, in the same breath, unbidden and undeniable: And I am going to be pleasant to him for the rest of mine.

* * *

I went out at one to look at the meadow. I told Mother I needed air, which was true, and went down the outside stairs so I wouldn't have to cross the house. I couldn’t bear the idea of speaking to anybody.

The fog had gone. The tents were beautiful. There were rows of chairs set in the cathedral with a gap down the middle, and the light was already doing the thing it does through the redwoods, hours early, as though it were warming up.

A man was standing at the back row in a beautifully cut suit with his jacket over one arm. It wasn't Gregory. It was Lance.

"You're dressed early."

"I've been dressed for hours. I couldn't sit in that room another minute." He picked a glass of champagne off the chair beside him. "It's very beautiful, Blaine."

"It is."

We stood there until it began to feel like something. Something heavy and uninvited.

"Are you going to ask me?" Lance turned, and his voice dropped almost to nothing.

"Ask you what?"

"Whether I think you should do this."

And here's the moment I’ve gone over more than any other from that entire week. Because my oldest friend was standing beside me in an empty meadow offering me an open door, and all I had to say was yes. Ask me.

"No," I said.

Lance nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Don't. Please."